Dividing Lines
by HappierThanMost
Summary: Now that Sodapop's reached high school, he's suddenly aware of Darry's godlike status and isn't quite sure of where he stands.


**_DIVIDING LINES_**

 _Thursday_

"You wanna head over to Creekside and see the fight? I got two dollars on Jimmy," Steve's smacking his gum and pulling out his math book.

My hands are empty when I slam my locker shut on all my stuff. "Nah, gotta walk Ponyboy home. Mom's cleaning houses today." The halls have almost cleared, only a few stragglers here and there running for their busses or for afternoon practices.

Steve sticks his wad of gum on Shifty Loman's locker and mutters, "Suit yourself," as if I even have a choice, and he saunters off to find Two-Bit hoping to catch a ride. I shrug my shoulders and walk in the opposite direction, calling behind me, "Jimmy Fulton ain't got nothin' on Hawkins by the way," feeling sure Steve can kiss his two dollars goodbye.

I shove open the double doors to the back lot and I'm blinded by the light, even though the day is overcast with heavy clouds and the air smells like rain's coming. I don't wanna get wet so I speed up and make my way across the large campus, between the junior high and practice fields, towards the elementary school where Pony should be waiting at the playground. He gets out thirty minutes before us, and knowing him he's probably itchin' to leave by now.

Over by the football stands I eye a group of cheerleaders, a pack of swinging ponytails, sounding like hyenas all talking at once, struggling to be heard. I'm guessing they won't pay attention to some greaser freshman, and I look down at my feet instead of their tight little asses, shove my hands down my pockets and mosey on.

The sound of a thousand galloping horses erupts when the football team breaks loose from the locker rooms, headed for the gruff coaches who already seem to be yelling at them like they've done something wrong before they've even started. Whistles pierce the afternoon and I wonder how Darry can even stand it all. I stop on the hill and shield my eyes, squinting to see, and I recognize him instantly. He stands out, not only as the biggest, but the one who has a crowd around him. I shake my head at the division that lies between us. I didn't realize till I came to the high school and saw for myself where he stands among us mortals. The followers of the Darrys and Pauls of the world scramble around them, just feeding off the scraps they throw. I wonder why Darry even calls himself one of us. He hasn't had time for the gang lately, and I'm pretty sure when the entire school has a pep rally in your honor, you kinda lose your grip on what it means to be a greaser.

I walk off to hunt down Ponyboy, and as the cheerleaders are skipping to the bleachers behind me, I can make out "Look, there's Darry," through their squeals of delight.

From far away I see a lone kid on a swing, dragging his feet across the gravel, kicking up dirt. I try and wave him down but he doesn't see me and the closer I get, I can tell by his body language he's in a bad mood. I figure the walk home is gonna be real pleasant.

He looks up when I whistle and starts grabbing at his books, wiping away the dust he caused, and I holler out, "Need a ride?" His stack is bigger than him and I move to carry something. "Geez, Ponyboy how much homework you got?"

"It was just library day. You're tellin' me you ain't got no homework?" he asks, noticing my free hands.

He takes up my offer and hands me half the books, then we set off for the sidewalk that'll lead us home, and not much is said as our footsteps fall in line with each other's. Not one for silence, I ask him about his day, and his sigh lets me know it was pretty bad and he doesn't want to talk about it. I eye the clouds and do what everyone else does when you have nothing to say; I remark on the weather. "Looks like rain's a comin'."

A couple more blocks go by and my mind is on one of those good lookin' cheerleaders. Lizzie Monroe is the cutest of the bunch and I'm gonna make it my goal to get to know her this year. A senior girl with a freshman boy can't be too out of the question. Stranger things have happened, I'm sure. Pony's sudden voice cuts my thoughts, almost making me jump; I'd forgotten he was even there.

"I know you'll tell me I shouldn't care, and all that sticks and stones shit." My eyebrows shoot up when he says it, and not because of his word choice. He may be only eleven, but Pony already has a mouth on him. Instead, I'm taken back by the bite in his voice.

"How do you know what I'm gonna say? Why don't you try me?" and I hold my breath wondering what's gonna spill out of his mouth. I'm not in the mood for my bad temper today, and if somebody's botherin' Ponyboy, then I'm likely to get real good and pissed.

"At lunch Susie Sheldon called out in front of God and everybody that Mom's cleanin' her house today," he says rapidly, as if getting it all out. "And she said it all snotty like." Then with a voice deflated he adds, "Everybody who wasn't laughin' was starin'."

My breath lets go and I try to maintain composure but my heart is squeezed like a wet wash rag. I keep my eyes straight ahead and my fire fuels my walk, speeding it up, my stride becoming hard for Ponyboy to keep up with. Trying to read my face, he struggles to pick up his pace while holding his mountain of books, but he starts lagging behind. Finally calm, I stop and wait, give him a small understanding smile, and I almost can't feel my body cause it's so swept up in deep compassion and pity for him. He freezes, waiting for my answer, and while pointing my finger at him, all I can muster is, "That ain't nothin' to be ashamed of ya hear?" I start back to walking, but stop again cause I ain't done. "And for what it's worth, Susie Sheldon is a twat. Her brother Bobby is a dick and their parents are assholes. Fuck'em," and I turn back towards home, taking a mental note to make Bob's life miserable this year.

I feel Pony's mood is lighter once we reach our street, cause I know he always feels better when I can take on his anger and feel it for him. His mind's probably off on one of his storybooks now, while I can't quit imagining slapping that little bitch Susie Sheldon up and down the damn street.

The empty house is stuffy so I go around and open some windows, but the rain starts pouring so I have to go back around and shut'em all. Pony's helped himself to a peanut butter sandwich as a snack and I have to marvel at how fast he wolfs it down. "Why don't you start on your homework," I say and move the fan from the kitchen to the living room.

"Why don't you," he talks back, his words barely understood through sticky peanut butter. "Oh yeah, you ain't got none." His tongue is working to clear the roof of his mouth.

I ignore him and turn on the fan, aiming it right at Dad's chair where I plan to set up shop in front of the tv. But Pony, the little shit, flings himself in it before I get the chance, and all my compassion I'd felt earlier seems miles away as I proceed to smack him hard all over his legs. His wild kicks are giving me a pretty good beating but I shield my body with one arm and grab hold of his foot with the other, then drag him right out of the chair. When he hits the floor with a satisfying thud, I bend and give him a flick to his forehead for good measure, then take my rightful spot. No words are even spoken as Pony resigns himself to the couch, draping lazily across it, like he didn't just get his ass whipped.

Dad's chair is prime real estate. Not only for its comfort, but its distance to the tv. Whoever's in the chair controls what we watch, and my agile toes have the rare ability to turn the knob between all three channels without ever having to get up.

Hours drift by and we don't even notice the house has grown dark when Mom comes through the door, going on about us being too lazy to even turn on a damn light. She's shaking her head as she flips the switches, then heads for the kitchen to face supper. Suddenly I remember where she's been and the thought of the Sheldons have me seething again.

I get up and find her putting away groceries, lighting up the gas on the stove and pulling out leftover beef stew. I crinkle my nose at the looks of it, but I don't dare say, "We're having that again?" even though I want to. Instead I say "hey" and she kisses my cheek, then I sit down and watch, trying to imagine what it's like for her to clean some rich family's house. I wonder if she pretends it's hers while she does it, trying to forget what our real home looks like. Or maybe she resents it so much, each tug of the vacuum, each swipe with the duster is filled with malice. I guess I'd never really thought about Mom's part time job till it was pointed out to me today.

"How was work Mom?" My loaded question goes unanswered for a moment, while she's dumping the stew into a pot and starts stirring.

Then she turns to face me and says, "Huh? Oh, it was good honey. A long day but I got some great tips." Her excited grin is infectious and I'm feeling better already while she pulls out the rumpled wad of bills and goes to stuff it in the vase on the top shelf. She can't reach cause it's too far back so I get up to help. As I hand it to her she adds, "I had the best conversation with Lorraine Sheldon today," and I'm focusing on her mouth while she goes on and on about the family I violated ten million different ways in my head just this afternoon. "I swear we're cut from the same cloth. Did you know her parents were brought up in Louisiana?"

I don't tell her that Lorraine's kids are pieces of shit. Why ruin her day? But I do feel better picturing my Mom having good conversations while she works. I like that idea far better than the scenario I'd imagined for her. To top it off she adds, "We think you and her boy Bobby might get along. I mean, I know we're not from the same side of town, but it sounds like you two might have some things in common."

I try and take in the absurdity that's just been thrown at me and I tell her, "Yeah Mom. That'd be great," as I run my hands through my hair. "Maybe I can meet him at the club for a round of golf. In fact, lemme go dig up my argyle sweater vest."

"Soda," she says shaming me, but I watch her eyes smile before her mouth does and she explodes into the laughter she can't hold back. "You are somethin' else Sodapop Curtis. How did I raise such a child?" and she goes back to man the stove.

Darry busts through the front door so rough you'd think a swat team's come to take us all down. And the sweaty stench that follows him just might do it. Pony's already at him, yelling, "Lord Darry, you can't get in the shower fast enough." Darry says hi to nobody, just grunts at Mom, strips down right at the laundry closet and disappears into the bathroom. Mom floats around spraying the Lysol in every area he's been near and we're all thankful for that.

Supper is served and Darry's soapy smell now drifts over the table as we sit in front of our steaming stew. I ask him if he's headed to Mitchell's party after the game tomorrow night. "Steve and I are gonna go, we can wait for you by the locker rooms and you can come with us if you want," I tell him and gulp down my milk. I wouldn't mind having Darry to walk in with, since it's a party of mostly upperclassmen and he could help my rep with the ladies. Plus, Dad lets him borrow his truck on Friday nights and I'd rather ride than walk. But an exhausted growl is all I get from him.

Dad's work has left his seat empty lately at suppertime, so Mom tries to fill in for him, asking us questions about our day, trying to shoot the breeze like she's one of the guys. To Ponyboy she covers everything from recess to what's going on with Johnny Cade these days. With me she wants gossip, asking who's been in trouble lately and if I find anyone good lookin' in my classes. And with Darry, she attempts football and ends up nowhere. She tries to ask about upcoming games and the huge playbook of calls he has to memorize, but Darry's answers are always short, and she just ends up moving back to Ponyboy and his take on the gross meat they served up in the cafeteria today. I glare at Darry for doing that to her. And once again, I'm thinking his high horse is a little too high for this table.

* * *

 _Friday_

With no more mention of Mitchell's party, I assume Darry is a no, so Steve and I leave the football game and go without him. It's a middle class party which means all social groups are milling about, but the lines separating them are drawn boldly as everyone congregates with their own kind throughout the night. The middle class is the exception and floats between each. Steve and I are relegated with the rest of the hoods to the carport to smoke, and that's just the way we like it. We have a more rowdy kind of fun and still manage to pull in girls of all types, even the soc girls who keep eyeing us most the night and finally get the nerve to approach. I tell Steve he should work more on his friendly look.

I'm returning from the bathroom when I hear all the buzz going around that some of the team's pulling up. The excited talk now goes to tonight's game and how we're headed all the way to state after that win. By the time I reach the kitchen Darry, Paul and their crew come struttin' in like they own the damn place and I'm pissed he chose to come with them over us. Suddenly the kitchen seems small when those big seniors fill it up, and even though Darry's spotted me and gives me a nod and tips his beer bottle in my direction, I blow him off and head back out to Steve.

Two-Bit stumbles in drunk, always the life of the party, and he slings his arm around Steve's shoulders. "Stevie boy, and middle Curtis," he takes his other arm and pulls me in. "I can't believe y'all made it up to the big leagues. High school boys. You grew so fast." He wipes at a fake tear and Steve's had enough already, rolling his eyes and walking off to the keg. "What's crawled up his ass?" Two-Bit asks me, then his eyes light up and he says, "Hey, there's Darry, c'mon." I jerk away from his hand that's trying to drag me, and he's not too drunk to realize something's wrong. He asks no questions, but his eyes are full of them as he waits for my answer.

I don't want to make a big deal about it, but I spill it, tired of being the only one who notices the way Darry's thrown us to the curb. "I think Mr. Football don't know where he came from no more. I'm not so sure which team he's really on."

Two-Bit, the king of putting out fires, starts in with all the defenses for his best friend. "That ain't true Sodapop and you know it." But I don't wait for the rest and I leave him to look for Steve.

Curfew's rolling in and the party's starting to wind down when Steve asks, "Why aren't we hanging with Darry again?" but I can tell he doesn't really care one way or the other so I don't bother answering. My eyes drift to the kitchen window and I can see Darry talking and laughing, but I ignore the fact he's really not being exclusive at all; he's talking to all walks of life. Two-Bit flanks his side right along with Holden, but I'm not done being mad at my brother just yet. I can't shake the feeling he's forgotten what side of town he came from. He's choosing the people who make the messes that Mom has to clean up.

Steve's vanished with Two-Bit and I've finally managed to break the ice with The Lizzie Monroe, who happens to be really flirty with me while I tell her how great she cheered at the pep rally today. She doesn't need to know I was nowhere near the vicinity when said pep rally took place, since I cut after fourth period.

Leave it to Darry to interrupt now, using his charming voice since Lizzie happens to be here. "I see you met my kid brother," and Lizzie starts fawning over me like I'm some kid she's babysitting. "He's so adorable Darry, I shoulda known you two were brothers."

Then to me, in his brother voice, he instructs, "Last call. Be at the truck in ten," and he politely excuses himself from Lizzie and heads out to the driveway. So, I figure I can get a lot of shit done in ten minutes and I choose to ignore the fact she just treated me like I was four. Besides, I can work with adorable. I amp up the wattage and in less than five she's putty in my hands. Then, to seal the deal, I end it as soon as I see her interest peaking and tell her nicely, "See ya around, Lizzie." I head out to the truck, leaving her wanting more.

It's around the mailbox that I hear super soc Neil Davis slur out, "Hey grease," and his gang of jackasses start cackling, like their leader just said the most original line in the book. "You're out of your league tonight, ya know that? People like you best stick with your own kind. We don't want no white trash round here."

I could just ignore him, head home and make curfew, but I've been itchin' for a good fight, needing to blow off some steam. I stroll on over to ole Neil so he can put his money where his mouth is. People start gathering, whispering. I catch a few "Darry's brother" comments. But I don't need him to fight my fights.

From the corner of my eye though, I see Darry and Paul taking interest. Darry's leaned against the truck with his arms crossed, waiting for the showdown. He's used to seeing me fight my own battles. I hear him chuckling to Paul, "Man, Neil's done picked the wrong kid," and though his confidence fires me up, I'm still mad he's hanging on the wrong side of the line.

I have to make this quick so I start on in. "Who you callin' white trash?" and I set my face, hard and threatening.

Before every fight an electricity runs through me, my muscles come alive, just screaming to be used, and I remember what Darry's always told me. "You may not be the biggest, but Soda, you got speed and you sure has hell got crazy on your side. Use it." My teeth clench just imagining tearing Neil apart.

"Why you wearing that poor man's getup?" says the loser in pink madras, and I see Darry's subtle nod for me to take his ass down.

I take one long drag off my cigarette for effect, then toss it at Neil's feet. "Your girl sure didn't complain 'bout my clothes.. before I fucked her good last night." Then I come at him like hellfire, so fast he don't know which end is up. My surprise left hook has him dumbstruck, so although he's a junior and way more built, I hold my own as we spill out into the road, wrestling all over, the crowd chanting "Fight! Fight!" I'm taking a few knocks but the fight is fair, and all the insults being hurled at me from his buddies go in one ear and out the other.

I've managed to get the upper hand and keep him down for a few more hits to end it, when out of the crowd, that asshole Charlie Cooper says the most vicious slur I've ever heard in my life. "Everybody knows what your pretty momma's really getting paid for, and it ain't cleaning."

My breath disappears and a fire takes it's place. A fire that races through every corner of my lungs, winding it's way up my rib cage, boiling my blood on its trip through my entire network of veins. I drop Neil's head to the ground and stand, the entire world is red and I'm rushing to rip the fucker to shreds. The crowd is stunned into silence and I see nothing but my target, my eyes locked right in on that smug face, but before I make it there, a huge fist slams violently right across it like an exploding grenade, and Charlie Cooper is knocked out cold with Darry standing above him, shaking out his busted hand that delivered the first and final blow.

My mouth drops and I wipe at my split lip, and Darry gives a solid shove to Neil, who's struggling to get back up. "Stay down," Darry threatens and then he grabs onto me and says simply, "C'mon, we gotta go home."

I see his knuckles are split when he grasps the steering wheel, and I'm finally realizing what just happened. I look over at him, driving fast so we aren't in more trouble than we already are. "Thanks Darry," I say humbly, and mean it. "I know you ain't supposed to get caught fightin'. I know your coach would kick you off the team, no questions."

"Yeah, well, I've had a problem with Cooper since the fifth grade, and tonight, he crossed a line."

Suddenly all those lines I've been trying to figure out, the boundaries I've been ordered to stay in, seem a lot more confusing now. A lot less straight. And I'd blamed Darry for stepping in and out of them, but maybe he just makes his own.

We spit out the gum that's masking our beer breath as we pull up to the house and Darry says, "Nobody believes that about Mom. Everybody knows it's just a load of trash talk. But, you know the biggest insult tonight was aimed at me." I look at him confused. "Two-Bit told me what you said." And before I can make it right, he hops out of the truck and we're bounding up the porch steps.

We look in through the window to get a handle on things, see what we're walking into. Dad's sitting in his chair, reading the paper, waiting up. I've never decided who's better to have up waiting when you're late. We look at each other and walk on in to accept our fate.

"Well look what the cat dragged in," Dad says in his thick Southern drawl. Then he stands with a look of concern when he sees my face. It ain't too bad, just a split lip and a bruised cheek. Darry's trying to keep his knuckles out of the way but Dad's already noticed, and that's when all of his attention gets thrown on him. "Darry damnit, you're playing with fire boy. All it takes is one mistake and you can kiss a scholarship goodbye." Darry just lets Dad lecture and not once does he put the blame on me. My guilt grows even larger.

After Dad has chewed up and spit out Darry, his face grows softer with me. "Soda, you alright?" I nod my head yes, just as a trail of blood spills out my nose. I catch it and Dad runs for a tissue. He's smiling when he hands it to me. "Please tell me the other guy looks worse."

"They're peeling him off the curb right now," I grin beneath the tissue I've plugged up my nostrils. Dad just shakes his head as he looks between us. "Be sure and clean up a little so your Momma don't get upset seeing your war wounds tomorrow." Then he gets firm. " And boys, if you come up in this house late one more time I'm gonna tan your hides, ya hear?

"Yes sir," we answer in unison and head to our rooms. It wasn't so bad. For me anyway. And Darry doesn't look too undone.

As we drag our sorry asses down the hall I hear the creak of Pony's door and his face appears in the crack of it. "Holy shit, what happened to y'all?" he asks, and Dad's wild but empty threats start spewing out of the living room. "Ponyboy Curtis you better shut that mouth and take it on back to bed or I'm gonna give your ass a whooping when I'm done skinnin' those two." None of us are scared of Dad's backwood sayings, and Pony's eye roll is priceless, his face retreating behind his door as quickly as it appeared, and if my face wasn't stinging so bad, I'd be laughing at the comedy of it all.

I'm about to turn in, just rubbing some alcohol over my cut when Darry enters. He calmly walks over and grabs the neck of my t-shirt, pulling me to him and almost up on my toes, his eyes forcing mine to look into his icy glare. I know he means business, and I'm ready to take my lumps that I deserve. His voice is very low but it hardly needs volume to hold its power. "Don't you ever question my loyalty again. If you ever even think I don't got your back, I'll kick your sorry ass all the way to Texas. I'm the only big brother you got. Understood?" He lets go and I clear my throat, smooth out my t-shirt. I would never even consider fighting back when Darry's like this, and I answer softly, submissively, "Yeah, I understand."

But he turns around as he's leaving, his features back to relaxed. "Neil Davis ain't no slouch, Sodapop. You fought real good tonight."

I smile despite my aching cheekbone, "Yeah well, I sure can't master that one punch knockout," I call to his back.

His voice fades off as he's shutting his door, "Your day's comin'."

I fall asleep riding high that Darry's proud of me, with a peace knowing he's always gonna be on our side. And in the words of Ponyboy, all that sticks and stones shit about Mom, it can't touch our truth. And neither can all those fucked up lines.

Darry's just gonna blow past'em all anyway.

 **A/N:** The Outsiders by SE Hinton


End file.
